


To Love, Cherish and Worship

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because they're so happy, Excessive Declarations of Love, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Porn, They're all soppy and disgusting, Wedding Night, a bit of crying, bottomlock, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "What do you want?" John's mouth was hot on his chest, and he bent his fingers in way that had Sherlock gasping."You," Sherlock managed in response"You have me." John rocked his fingers slowly, the tips pushing against the right spot again, and Sherlock saw stars."I want to make you feel good."Wedding night fluff andfeelings.





	To Love, Cherish and Worship

Only Mycroft saw them slipping away from the reception. Sherlock hadn't expected they could get away without attracting his brother's attention and chose to ignore the eyeroll directed towards them; he was too happy to be annoyed with Mycroft, who would never be able to love someone the way Sherlock loved John. For a briefest moment, Sherlock felt almost sorry for him.

Then John's fingers intertwined with his, and he forgot all about his brother. He squeezed John's hand, and the next thing he knew, they were both almost running towards their room, as eager to have each other as they had been the first time they'd shared a bed, but far less awkward now, familiar and in tune with each other.

They barely made it through the door before they were wrapped around each other, kissing as if they were starved for contact. They'd shared kisses during the reception, but – at John's insistence – they had been light and polite, family friendly pecks more than anything else. This kiss was all tongue and teeth and burning passion, and Sherlock felt it still wasn't enough. He wanted to meld their bodies together and stay forever locked in an embrace, no matter how impractical that would be.

When they finally parted, they were both panting and John was almost laughing, his eyes bright and pupils blown wide. "Maybe … slow down, yeah?" He brushed his lips across the corner of Sherlock's mouth. "We have all night."

Sherlock snorted, tugging John closer by the hips. "We've had a long day. We have time exactly for one round before exhaustion takes over and we'll both sleep well into the morning."

"Better make it count, then," John stated, landing another feather-light kiss on Sherlock's lips. "As much as I'd like to have you right here against the wall, I think we _should_ have our wedding night in bed."

Sherlock considered his options. He did enjoy being shoved against the nearest the wall and shagged blind, but he supposed John was right; their wedding night did call for something a little more comfortable.

"Yes," he agreed after a moment. "Bed."

He gave John one more quick kiss before letting go of him and kicking off his shoes. His jacket and then the rest of his clothes followed as he walked further into the room, and by the time he reached the bed he was naked, the clothes strewn all over the floor. He dropped to sit on the edge, the white sheets cool and smooth against his skin. There were large bouquets of red roses on the nightstands on each side of the bed, and Sherlock could smell them, the fragrance sweet and heavy in the air.

John, still by the door, had paused in the middle of removing his shoes, dark eyes trailing up and down Sherlock's naked body. A few short strands of silvery hair were sweeping across his forehead; the gel he'd used to hold it back was finally giving up, mostly due to Sherlock having run his hand through his hair so many times during the day. Sherlock wanted to tousle it further, to make it stick up at every direction. John's hair was always at its best when it showed obvious signs of Sherlock's touch, he thought, smiling.

"I'm so in love with you," he said, voice soft.

John stepped out of the last shoe and straightened, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, you did marry me, so I sort of figured that out."

Sherlock huffed. "That's not what you're supposed to say."

John laughed, nudging his shoes closer to the wall with his foot before shrugging off his jacket. "No? What am I supposed to say?" He walked across the room, his socked feet silent on the thick carpeting, and stopped in front of Sherlock. Sherlock caught him by the hips and pulled him closer until he was standing between Sherlock's bare thighs.

"You're supposed to tell me you're in love with me, you arse."

John took Sherlock's face between his hands and bend down to rest their foreheads together. "I love you, Sherlock. I'm in love with you."

"Good," Sherlock told him and lifted his chin so that their mouths met.

The kiss was slow and luxurious, John's breath warm against his skin, and when they separated, John's eyes were dark with desire and Sherlock's cock was hardening between his legs. He smiled and flopped down on his back, arms outstretched across the bed. Above him, John drew a sharp breath.

"See something you like?" Sherlock teased, arching his back off the bed, aware of how it emphasised the long, lean lines of his body.

"Oh, definitely. The best wedding present I could think of is right here in front of me." John leaned over Sherlock, bracing one hand on the mattress. "Shame that I didn't get to unwrap it, though."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Unwrap yourself, be so kind."

John laughed – god, he was laughing so much, and Sherlock _loved_ that – and went to work on his own clothes, his every moment quick and precise.

"Hurry _up_ ," Sherlock told him anyway when he took a moment too long to struggle with his cufflinks.

John's only response was a fond eyeroll, and then he was already gloriously naked and crawling onto the bed on top of Sherlock, the mattress dipping under his movements. Sherlock pulled him down until their bodies were completely flush together, and John's cock, already as hard as Sherlock's, rubbed against his hip, making him arch up. The soft, light kisses John left on his mouth and cheeks and the tip of his nose had Sherlock giggling, and John giggled along with him.

"Lovely," John whispered, shifting lower to latch his mouth on Sherlock's neck, teeth scraping gently at his skin as his hands wandered down Sherlock's sides.

Each touch of his fingers and mouth send jolts of pleasure to Sherlock's cock and made his hips grind up against John's, and he wrapped his legs around John's waist, pulling him even closer, their erections rubbing together in the tight space between their bodies. They both moaned at the contact, and John gave a shuddery little thrust against Sherlock. His hands were roaming over Sherlock's skin as if he was trying to touch every inch of it at once.

Soon, the hands migrated down, between their bodies, over Sherlock's belly and lower. At Sherlock's whispered encouragement, John's hand wrapped around him, his grip firm and steady. Sherlock threw his head back, hissing in pleasure as John started to stroke him, slow, luxurious slides up and down his cock. John's mouth latched on his exposed neck, and Sherlock pushed a hand through John's hair, cupping the back of his head in his palm as his hips thrust up. His other hand was resting on John's back, fingers clenching every time John twisted his hand exactly right.

After a few, gentle strokes, John's hand slipped backwards, brushing over his balls and heading lower, and Sherlock moaned softly, tilting his pelvis up for better access.

"Lube," he said, "nightstand." He'd meant to phrase it more eloquently, but John's touch was doing distracting things to him, making it a challenge to find more words.

John kissed the corner of his jaw, the tip of his finger drawing light circles over Sherlock's perineum and his hole. "Impatient, are we?"

"Yes. Yes we are." Sherlock took a deep breath. "Don't you even dare to pretend you don't want me just as much as I want you."

John pulled back and smiled at him, his eyes warm. "Of course I want you."

"Good. Then get the lube!"

"Git," John said, and it was nothing as much as an endearment.

He reached for the nightstand, found the lube and coated his fingers with it, and when Sherlock spread his legs wider as an invitation, John's hand slipped between them. The slick tip of a forefinger touched sensitive skin, circling slowly, and only when Sherlock made an impatient sound, John sank it in, one unhurried slide all the way to the knuckle. Sherlock sighed, almost relieved by the touch, and thrust down towards John's hand.

John only gave him a few gentle thrusts before pulling out and adding another finger.

"Good?" he asked, sliding his fingers in deep before crooking them.

Pleasure jolted through Sherlock's body and he moaned and arched up from the bed. "You know it is. You-you're so very skilled with your hands, Doctor, ah, Doctor Watson." He had to pause for a breath as those wonderful fingers twisted again. "Another, now, John, please."

Smiling, John pulled the finger out and pushed back in with three, reaching deep into him, opening him wider now, and Sherlock moaned, the pleasure of John's touch drowning out the slight sting of the added stretch. The fingers twisted, slow and delicious, before pushing in deeper, and this time Sherlock cried out. He spread his legs wider, pulling his left knee up for better access.

John's free hand cupped his cheek, warm and gentle, as the fingers inside thrust deep, rotating and rubbing and forcing him open wider. "What do you want?" John's mouth was hot on his chest, and he bent his fingers in way that had Sherlock gasping.

"You," Sherlock managed in response

"You have me." John rocked his fingers slowly, the tips pushing against the right spot again, and Sherlock saw stars.

"I want to make you feel good."

"Mmm. You always do, love." John dragged the fingers out and wiped them with a tissue he'd plucked from the nightstand. His eyes were dark and warm and so very beautiful. Sherlock reached up and pulled him into a slow, gentle kiss.

"Sit against the headboard," he said as he released John's mouth. "I want to see you. I want to be so close to you." He paused. "I love you so much."

"I love you, you perfect thing," John whispered, gave him a quick peck and knelt up.

Sherlock rolled away to make room for John, who arranged the pillows against the headboard before sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, thick, hard cock jutting up from between them, and patted his thigh. "Come here then."

Sherlock crawled over and straddled John's lap before reaching for the lube. He let it warm for a moment in his hands before wrapping his palm around John's hard flesh, and John arched up, groaning softly as Sherlock started to stroke his cock. The breathy sounds he made as Sherlock rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head reverberated through Sherlock, making him lightheaded with their shared need.

As soon as John was sufficiently slick under Sherlock's fingers, he lifted his hips, balancing himself with one hand on John's shoulder, and used his other hand to guide John to the right spot. The pressure of the penetration was intense as he started lowering himself down, even after the preparation, and he threw his head back, panting. John's hands clenched on his hips, fingertips digging in.

"Slow, love, slow," John told him. "God you feel good, so _tight_."

Sherlock gripped John's shoulders with both hands and dropped the last few inches, and then he was full, the stretch a sweet ache inside him, so familiar and perfect.

"God, you're beautiful," John said, his voice reverent. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

" _I'm_ the lucky one," Sherlock told him and took John's left hand in his. "I never thought I wanted this. If we hadn't met, if you hadn't come to me, I–" his voice broke and he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss on the ring, the body-warm metal smooth under his lips, "–I would have never known how it feels to love someone."

"Oh, _Sherlock_." John's free hand rose to push through his hair, fingers tangling in his curls.

"I'm glad we met." Sherlock opened his eyes and landed another soft kiss on John's knuckles. "I'm so glad you're mine."

"I am absolutely delighted to be yours."

Sherlock turned the hand around in his own, and pressed yet another kiss on the centre of John's palm. His eyes stung and there was a sudden pressure in his throat.

"Hey," John said, voice soft. "You all right?" His hand slid from Sherlock's hair to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing across his skin, and Sherlock realised he was crying.

"I'm perfect," he whispered, and when he closed his eyes, more tears spilled down his cheeks. John's other hand rose up too, taking Sherlock's along with it, and he wiped Sherlock's cheeks with both hands. "I just… You're forever mine, now, and I'm yours. We're _married_." The last word came out as a half-laugh, half-sob, and Sherlock squeezed the hand under his.

"Yes we are," John leaned up to kiss away the remaining tears, his breath warm across Sherlock's cheeks, "and I couldn't be happier."

"Did you ever think…" Sherlock shifted his hips, felt John's cock shift within him. "Did you ever think we'd get here?"

"I hoped," John said. "But I wasn't sure. Not before."

Sherlock leaned down to rest his cheek against John's. "Me neither. To think that we may have never–"

"Shh." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, tight, holding him close so that he was full of John and surrounded by him in the best possible way. "We made it here."

"We did," Sherlock breathed, and lifted his head, meeting John's eyes and smiling. A few more tears spilled down his cheeks, but the pressure in his throat was easing. "We did."

He started moving, a slow undulation of his hips first, and John moaned and closed his eyes, throwing his head back. Sherlock trailed light kisses across his face before claiming his mouth, and John's lips parted against his at once, granting him access. The movement of his hips picked up pace as he pulled John's lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at it gently before sliding his tongue into John's mouth. John's hands were gripping his waist, fingers clenching every time Sherlock dropped down, taking the entirety of John inside himself. He was so full, stretched so wide around John's girth, and every shift of his hips send sparks through his whole body.

"Lovely," John breathed. "God, you're lovely."

" _You_ are lovely," Sherlock told him. He tilted his pelvis, searching for the right angle, and arched his back when the head of John's cock brushed across his prostate as he knelt up. "You're _perfect_ , John. Perfect."

John leaned closer, mouth moving across his collarbones. "I love you."

"I love _you_ ," Sherlock whispered back.

He pushed both of his hands in John's hair, running his fingers through the silvery strands, and set up a steady rhythm of his hips, up and down, slow and achingly good. John's hands on his waist encouraged the movement, supported him when he pushed up on his knees and guided him when he dropped down to impale himself on John's hard flesh, feeling every inch deep inside him.

He steadied himself with a hand on John's shoulder, the familiar scar tissue smooth under his fingers, and pushed his other hand into John's hair again, combing out the last remains of the gel. The pleasure was building, burning inside him like fire. He savoured the feel of John moving in and out of him, his movements picking up pace now, the leisurely strokes from before giving way to desperate grinding as he rode John. John was thrusting up into him, reaching even deeper, and Sherlock couldn't help the little gasps falling from his lips.

"John," he moaned. "John, oh John, John…"

It was clear it wouldn't take long now; he was so close he felt he could hardly breathe anymore, burning with the need for release. John's hands dropped to his hips, gripping tightly, and Sherlock was losing his rhythm, but it didn't matter anymore. John's hand slid further back across his buttock, the tips of his fingers finding the place where they were slick and connected, and they both shuddered. Sherlock dropped his head on John's shoulder, mouthing the sweaty skin there, muffling his moans as his pleasure crested and he was coming, spilling all over their bellies, untouched.

Somehow he managed to keep moving through the overwhelming pleasure, and then John was gripping his hips hard, crying out, and Sherlock could feel the hot wetness inside, filling him. He clenched around John and held him close, John's face pressed to his neck, his own nose in buried in John's hair. John's breaths were shuddering, and Sherlock realised there was wetness spreading on his skin a moment before John's next inhale ended in a sob. Still shaking from his orgasm, Sherlock held John tighter and dropped gentle kisses on his soft hair.

When it was finally over and John lifted his head, his eyes were glistening. He was smiling up at Sherlock, his cheeks pink, lips parted, eyelashes clumped together with tears and sweat. Sherlock had never seen anything as beautiful.

"I adore you," he whispered as took John's face between his hands and kissed him, slow and sweet, tongue brushing across his lips before slipping into his mouth. John's mouth moved along with his, his tongue welcoming Sherlock's, and his hands were clinging to Sherlock's shoulders as if he never wanted to let go.

Once they parted, Sherlock reached for the nightstand, picking two roses from the vase. As John watched him, he snapped the stems one-handed, then slipped one rose behind John's ear, combing messy grey strands back with gentle fingers. The other rose he pushed into his own curls.

John's delighted giggle was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard, and he had to kiss John again, and then again and again, until he became aware of the sweat cooling on his skin, making him shiver, and the stickiness between their bodies.

He pulled back and shifted slightly, and John's hold of him loosened. Sherlock pecked him on the cheek, then lifted himself up, and John slipped out of him along with a rush of liquid.

"Ugh," Sherlock said and reached for the nightstand once more. He found the tissues by touch and wiped them both clean, pushing John's hands away as he tried to help. John settled for stroking Sherlock's hair and back, his touch firm and grounding.

Once they were both clean, they wiggled under the soft, white sheets. Sherlock leaned over John, and John reached up and cupped his cheek, an adoring look in his face. The hand warm against his skin, the touch of the ring smooth and cool. Sherlock smiled.

"This is forever, now. You'll never be rid of me," he whispered as he covered John's hand with his own, the rings clinking softly as they touched.

John smiled back. "I wouldn't want to."

"Good." He gave John's hand a squeeze and then lowered his head on John's chest. The heartbeat under his ear was slow and steady, familiar, and he knew would be able to fall asleep listening to it for the rest of their lives.

He couldn't imagine anything he would want more.


End file.
